


A Brief Acquaintance

by Nana_41175



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, M/M, Romance, wardrobe malfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175
Summary: This was written for Christinefromsherwood’s prompt for 007 Fest 2020: The first time Q and Bond meet is in a public swimming pool after one of them dove headlong into the water and lost his swim suit.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 18
Kudos: 74
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	A Brief Acquaintance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [christinefromsherwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/gifts).



**Author’s Notes:** Hey everyone! This was written for [**Christinefromsherwood’s**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood) prompt for **007 Fest 2020:** The first time Q and Bond meet is in a public swimming pool after one of them dove headlong into the water and lost his swim suit. Thanks for the prompt and beta, lovely! I had fun with this. XD

Enjoy and do let me know what you think! Come join us as we celebrate a whole month of Bond and Bond-related content with **007 Fest 2020!**

* * *

The first time he met Bond, they were at a public pool and Q lost his swimming trunks while flapping about in the water.

That was the truth of it. Q was not going to mince words.

Also, he was never going to bring it up for as long as he lived, and for those unwise enough to even so much as mention the incident, he would make sure that their lives were short and painful and that they never breathed a word of it to anyone else. Fortunately, nobody had ever done so (at least to his face), so he was spared from embarking on a potential career in torture.

Why, he thought despairingly. Oh, why must it be Bond who must see him in a bad light almost immediately into his new tenure as Quartermaster?

The swimming party was an ill-conceived brainchild of Bill Tanner’s. Q would never understand what could have driven Bill to arrange such a social event between Q branch staff and the double-O agents. Perhaps it was to boost morale. Perhaps it was a way to lessen building tensions ever since the agents started scoring record losses of their equipment in the field.

Whatever the reason was, it was just Q’s luck that his attendance was mandatory as the head of his department, and in full swimming regalia.

It was not that he was not a good swimmer; far from it. He swam in the indoor pool at Q branch most evenings before going home, and late nights while he was on duty, if duty permitted.

The circumstances leading to the faux pas had everything to do with 007 rising out of the azure waters before him like Aphrodite herself, complete with huge splashes and sprays that soaked his bare legs and Bill’s as they stood too close to the pool’s edge.

The man hauled himself easily to his feet and stood before them, dripping and unself-conscious as he wiped water from his eyes. Of course he knew all about 007 from his file, yet he'd not managed to factor in his sheer presence, his magnificence. Q found himself gaping like a fish as he took in Bond’s muscled physique, those tight, aquamarine briefs that left very little to the imagination. He had to remind himself that it was not the first time he’d ever seen a double-O agent in the flesh.

“Ah, Bond,” Tanner said, as though nothing extraordinary had occurred. As though Q’s world had not been rocked to its foundations quite suddenly, with no warning. “Here’s the Quartermaster. Q, 007.”

“Pleasure,” Bond drawled as he extended his hand.

Q could not exactly remember the handshake, or the exchange of pleasantries that must have followed; but the bright blue of Bond’s eyes— yes. He remembered that. He would remember it for as long as he lived.

There was mirth in those eyes as the man took him in and Q found himself operating on auto-pilot. There were more words exchanged as the look 007 gave him shifted, became knowing as well as amused.

 _Shit,_ thought Q, his heart sinking. _Oh, shit shit shit._

If one long look from 007 was enough to reduce his mind to jelly, then it was imperative that he get away— far, far away from this man.

Abruptly, he turned to the aquamarine expanse before him and said, “How’s the water?”

“Perfect,’ 007 replied.

“Perfect,” Q echoed, and without further notice, he stripped off his shirt and plunged headlong into the pool.

No, he wasn’t going to think. He wasn’t going to think about Bill’s startled exclamation as he dove in. He wasn’t going to think about what 007 thought of him, seeing him gaping at him like that. When he was in the water, all his cares melted away.

He did two laps and was considerably calmer when he surfaced, only to find that Bond was back in the water and heading toward him. He could, at least, face him now with a semblance of equanimity.

Or so he thought.

“Quartermaster,” murmured 007 as he got near.

His tone was soft, subdued. They stood there, waist deep in the water, almost eye level. It was only when Q looked down that he noticed the fabric bunched in Bond’s hand.

“Nobody noticed, don’t worry,” 007 assured him as, with a hiss, he grabbed at his swim suit and made to don it under the water, all the while thinking he would not— could not live this down. He would now have to make the pool his home. He wasn’t leaving it ever again.

In the end, Bill managed to talk him out of it. Besides, there was lunch to attend to.

But, yes, it scuttled whatever form of friendship he could possibly have with 007.

There was no problem dealing with the man professionally. Q was set on never letting personal feelings get in the way of work. He took care of Bond the way he did his other agents, giving him everything he needed and being there for him for crucial technical assistance during missions.

Yet it was hard, sometimes. Especially when Bond was being ingratiating, or smiling at him in that particular way that made him fumble and stutter. The man flirted the way he took in air, or water, or food. It was a part of his make-up. And Q... All he could do was clamp down, take a step away.

_Turn away. Before he sees you and your massive, hopeless crush a mile wide._

How Bond would laugh if he found out, or worse, use it as leverage to get some treats out of him and Q branch while Bond sallied forth with the latest beautiful woman hanging on his arm.

Q was having none of it.

So today he was rather curt with Bond, and rightfully pissed that he’d lost his latest Walther, his third in two months. He’d sent him off with a flea in his ear, much to the minions’ approval: The Quartermaster could and did put his foot down when needed.

Yet the episode had left him feeling low, enough that he was doing solitary laps in the pool that lay deep within the bowels of Q branch after he clocked off from work. The agents made full and extensive use of it but tonight he was in sole possession of the water, for which he was grateful.

As always, being in the quiet, shimmering water calmed him, made him reorganize his thoughts so that the jagged edges did not cut too deep. The pool was lighted, though the overlying chamber was dim. He cut through the water neatly with lap after lap, until his muscles tingled and his mind had unclenched, like a fist.

He did not register the newcomer immediately. He’d left his glasses on top of his towel by the edge of the pool some way off, and that was where the blurred figure sat, bare-chested and his legs in the water. The pool lights illuminated his figure, but Q had no choice but to come nearer, squinting, in order to make out who it was.

 _Please,_ he thought. _Please let it not be…._

Fortune was not smiling his way. Not tonight.

“Evening, Q,” said Bond, his low voice echoing in the hollow chamber as light from the pool threw shimmering reflections on the ceiling above them.

Q cleared his throat. “Good evening, Bond,” he said, his voice cool as always while deep inside he was melting into a miserable puddle.

“I didn’t realize you come here often,” said Bond.

“Oh.” Q thought for a moment as he slicked back his hair and put his glasses on, counting the seconds before he could issue a polite excuse to be on his way. “I suppose we don’t come across each other here that often. Time differences and all that.”

“At all,” corrected Bond.

Q blinked. “Sorry?” he said.

“We’ve not come across each other at all,” Bond clarified. “Here, or anywhere else. Outside work.”

“We haven’t any reason to, have we?” murmured Q, already shying away.

God. Now was the time a trapdoor opened beneath him, sucking him down to oblivion, water and all. Now was also the time to say, _now, if you’ll excuse me…_

But before he could do so, Bond had slid into the water. Q quelled the sliver of panic that shot through him, which made scrabbling madly out of the pool such a shiny, good idea. Instead, he willed himself to be still under Bond’s gaze.

 _Fuck,_ he thought. Bond was wearing the same aquamarine briefs as the first time. The color melded with the clear, bright water and Q found that he had to avert his gaze.

 _Now he’s going to say it,_ thought Q, a withering feeling spreading inside him. _He’s going to mention that dreadful day in some weird form of banter or other and I_ can’t—

“I’ve displeased you,” said Bond.

Q did a double take. “What?”

“Since that first day,” Bond said. “At the pool.”

“Oh,” said Q, flailing helplessly. (Thank goodness his arms were underwater.) “It wasn’t you. Jesus, Bond.”

He couldn’t say it though, couldn’t say, _it was me. It was the goddamn swimsuit._

Because it should have been plain as day. His embarrassment should have been loud enough, as though he’d screamed it from the rooftops.

“Tell me how to undo it,” Bond said. “I want us to start all over again and be friends.”

“It wasn’t you,” Q repeated. “I should be the one to apologize. I…Bond, what are you doing? Bond. _Bond! Put your briefs back on, for heaven’s sake!”_

“Now we’re even,” Bond said, grinning, as Q stared, horrified, at the scrap of fabric that floated between them.

“Fuck,” whispered Q, torn between laughing and just bursting into tears of mortification. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you, Bond?”

“On the contrary,” said Bond, eyes dancing. “I want to cancel out one action with another so we can start from scratch. End our...brief acquaintance."

 _"Bond!"_ admonished Q, yet he could not help but laugh at Bond's terrible pun.

"Can I touch you?”

“Fuck,” said Q once again as he felt gentle hands on him, drawing him close. If he was surprised by the hands drawing him into an embrace instead of just a handshake, he was too bemused to fight it.

“You turned tail that first day and ran,” said Bond. “And you kept on running no matter how hard I tried to chase you down, when all I wanted to say was, it’s all fine.”

“It wasn’t,” whispered Q, shaking his head.

“But is it, now?” Bond queried.

“Maybe,” Q said as he buried his head against Bond’s shoulder.

He felt Bond press a light kiss to his forehead.

“And I like you, too,” he heard James say. “Very much.”


End file.
